


assembly instructions

by sceptical



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M, More Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceptical/pseuds/sceptical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Oliver and Connor move in together and Oliver can build things and Connor can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	assembly instructions

Oliver has to bite the inside of his cheek when Connor drills the first screw in crooked. He doesn’t say anything, clicks the drill into reverse and drives it in again straight. He gently explains you have to put some initial force into it first, and hands it back to him. He shares in Connor’s childish, albeit reluctant, delight when he gets the next one right and simply hands him another screw. Eventually the novelty wears off and Connor prefers twisting each screw into place as Oliver follows along and competently tightens each with the drill.

As the frame starts to take shape and is looking more like the ridiculous diagram it came with (by now the novelty has worn off completely), Connor entertains himself by planning and imagining all the creative things they can do once it is assembled.

Until the dust kicks in.

 _Aaachoo!_ Connor sniffs and glares ineffectively through one eye. “Ugh, you were so wrong about this.”

“Bless you. Now hold still.” Oliver sends the appliance whirling and drills three screws in one after another. Satisfied, he smiles at Connor, “Well, I’m having fun.”

“When you said we could do this ourselves I imagined more sweat and less clothes. And a lot less math…” _Achoo!_ He breaks off again. “Less sawdust, too,” he grumbles. “Oh, and at least one of us would be wearing a tool belt.”

Amused and enjoying himself, Oliver hums as he attaches the next two planks of wood together.

Connor has to push his hair out of his eyes as he asks, “Who taught you this stuff, anyway?”

“Well – grab the little round ones, yeah those. And tighten them with this," he hands Connor what looks to be a bent piece of metal. "I had to assemble my own furniture when I first moved out.” He picks up the drill and continues, “But it was mostly my mom when I was growing up. She was the handyman in the house.” Oliver’s face softens, as it so often does when he speaks of his parents, “Dad’s a bit of a klutz.”

Watching him, Connor feels a mixture of tenderness and pleasure, with a tinge of envy.

Oliver tightens the last cam, “What about your family?”

Connor gives a delicate snort, genuinely amused by the idea, “My family? Do something themselves? They’d never be so middle class.”

Oliver notices, as usual, that Connor doesn’t include himself.

“This is all your fault, anyway,” Connor continues.

“Hey, _you_ wanted a new bed. This bed.”

“ _I_ wanted to pay someone else to do it.”

“We were not about to pay them a hundred dollars to do something we can do ourselves. Hold still.” Oliver sends the drill whirling again.

“Speak for yourself,” Connor says when the noise dies down. “ _You_ suggested we get new stuff, though.”

“Not _this_ overpriced piece of furniture.”

“This _gorgeous_ overpriced piece of furniture,” Connor corrects and runs his hands appreciatively over the quality (very heavy) section of wood.

Oliver’s lips twitch but he can’t fault him on taste. “We’re already over budget.”

Connor rolls his eyes, “Here we go…”

Still amused, Oliver says, “Excuse me for wanting to still be able to afford food.”

“Only until I’m thirty,” Connor reminds him, wrinkling his nose.

“Then excuse me for not wanting to live off my boyfriend’s trust fund.”

Connor rolls his eyes again and waves off Oliver’s protests with a screw in hand. “I’m just saying...” _Aachoo!_

“Bless you. Anyway, it was your idea to find a new place.”

“You where the one who wanted to move in together,” Connor counters.

“Well, you…” Oliver looks up with narrowed eyes. “No, that was _you_.”

Connor grins, “Yeah, but you agreed.”

And Oliver can’t argue with that.

The progress of their relationship could be traced in a series of many, many baby steps: staying over for the night to staying long enough for breakfast to leaving a toothbrush for next time. One day Oliver switched out his shampoo to Connor's preferred one and Connor started buying two kinds of beer. Keys weren't so much _exchanged_ as they were _taken_ and never returned. Things started to get confusing when Connor thought he lost his tie, but found it a week later hanging in Oliver's closet and there was the time Oliver needed his best suit for a presentation and Connor had sent it, along with all his own things, to the dry cleaners.

Connor's invitation came in the form of, "Do you want to just... stay here?" Oliver looked confused for a moment since it was one in the morning and he was not going anywhere, but realization dawned on him and he walked on air for a week.

When they discovered that neither of them were very attached to their respective apartments (Connor received multiple noise complaints from the apartment to his left and Oliver had been in 303 ever since he started working at the advertising firm) or half the things that were in them, they began apartment hunting.

The new place was slightly bigger than both their old apartments and had a nicer view (as well as better soundproofing). Oliver quickly learned that while Connor's eye for interior decorating was excellent, it was also very expensive, and drew up a budget (he also quickly learned that Connor was _terrible_ at sticking to budgets). They kept Connor’s TV, espresso machine and coffee table, and Oliver’s blu-ray player, microwave and gigantic collection of books, and now had more cutlery and crockery than either of them would ever need.

Oliver scans the space. Mostly-unpacked boxes are stacked in broad groups with printed (his) and scrawled (Connor's) labels on the sides, half-disassembled furniture lean against the walls (the only thing that is fully assembled and functional is the blinking wi-fi router in the corner of the adjacent room) and there is stray pieces of cardboard  _everywhere._ His eyes finally rest on the man clad in old black workout gear, wearing a lopsided grin, beside him.

Oliver isn't sure that one apartment is enough to contain all his happiness.

He tests the structure with a firm shake. “Okay, grab that end. Ready, and…” They lift the frame together and Connor braces as Oliver manually secures the bolts.

“Okay, you can let go.”

Connor slowly loosens his grip and Oliver secures the opposite end. He watches with quiet appreciation as Oliver’s strong, deft hands, usually flying over a keyboard, turns the screwdriver. A sheen of sweat coats his brow and his grey tee clings to his shoulders where his muscles bunch up.

Connor can't resist leaning over. “You know, this is kind of hot.” His whisper is low and breathy in Oliver’s ear.

Oliver manages to not drop the tool and glances at him sideways, “Hot?”

“The whole tradesmen thing never appealed to me before. But I’m rethinking it now.” He runs his tongue slowly over his teeth, a wicked glint in his eye. “Make sure this baby's strong. It’s going to have to be for all the things I have in mind.”

Oliver bites his lip and thinks for a moment. “The mattress is supposed to arrive today, too.”

 

* * *

 

Connor doesn’t notice the way both the delivery guy and girl give him the once over as he hurriedly signs for the order and basically pushes them out the door. It takes both of them to haul the mattress onto the bed (Oliver takes a second to make sure it fits perfectly and, of course, it does).

Connor’s shirt is on the floor before the plastic is.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I haven't published fanfiction since I was twelve so all your comments and kudos are really encouraging!
> 
> As usual, I don't own htgawm.


End file.
